


Don't Let My Mother Know

by Halfsan



Category: AI: The Somnium Files (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character building, Gen, Mentions of Violence, One Shot, Spoilers, not really sure what else to tag this as tbh, this is my first time posting on ao3 ahsdjfjh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfsan/pseuds/Halfsan
Summary: During the middle of the Original Cyclops Serial Killings, Saito takes some time to himself to think, leading him to wonder about his mother.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Don't Let My Mother Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing about AI: The Somnium Files, and it's also my first time writing in a pretty long while. This is kind of a warm up fic, as I have other ideas for stories in this series. This story was inspired by a song, though really only the title was used as writing fuel. Anyways, I hope you can enjoy! Also if anyone has any suggestions for what to tag this with please let me know, as this is the first time I've ever posted on AO3 and I have no idea what I'm doing. T:

The night was quiet. Even the stirring of insects and animals were but a faint echo in the nature of the shrine. With silence, followed thoughts and wonders that invaded the mind of Saito Sejima: if his mother had lived, could his life have been different?

When it was this late, Ikume Shrine didn’t see many night time visitors. It made an ideal spot for Saito to get away from all the talk of politics that his father brought, and all the body guards. The concrete steps were painful to sit upon, but the overall atmosphere had both body and mind in a state of calm. It felt almost taboo for a horrible man who had done horrible things to visit a place of prayer and peace… perhaps that is what he was seeking.

Saito hadn’t murdered anyone in over a month. Just the thought of it made his scalp tingle and his fingers twitch, like an addict going through withdrawals. Similarly, Rohan一his partner in crime, so to speak一hadn’t contacted him in roughly the same time. The yakuza leader was the one who picked the killer’s targets, and he liked to take his sweet time in doing so. While Saito didn’t necessarily  _ need _ someone to find victims for him, Rohan was much more diligent, as far as leaving evidence was concerned. Saito was only good at the  _ killing  _ part, but even if something incriminating slipped through the cracks, his father would surely use his influence to cover things up一not that Saito  _ wanted  _ the old man’s help anyway. It was all to keep his political stance positive, and not done out of any love for his son.

Saito could never recall a moment when his father showed him love. In fact, his very concept of  _ love _ was skewed by the curious condition of how his brain worked; he was positive, however, especially after  _ that _ incident, he was not loved. That was fine by him, as he had his ways to create a happiness that could never be matched by love… and yet, he wondered, if his mother had survived, would he have experienced that love? From both mother  _ and father _ ?

Saito knew absolutely nothing about his mother. She had died giving birth to him, after all. He didn’t know what kind of woman she was, not her likes or her dislikes, and shockingly, even her name and face were unfamiliar to him. Sometimes, Saito would catch himself staring at his reflection, comparing his appearance to his father’s, and picking out the odd features to try to piece together a face. There were no family pictures in the Sejima mansion, though if he dug deep in his memory, Saito felt like it wasn’t  _ always _ like that. Perhaps the photos, if they did exist, had been removed by his father to ease the pain of loss. He couldn’t be certain. 

It went unspoken for years, but Saito knew that deep down, his father blamed  _ him _ for his mother’s death. That is why So Sejima never loved his son, but no amount of love would change the fact that Saito only felt happiness when he was killing. If it wasn’t his mother’s death, then killing Manaka was what cemented his father’s feelings. It happened so long ago, but he could recall the memory so vividly一his first kill was special, after all. The squelching noises from the knife cutting into her flesh and the warmth of her blood splashing on his skin had him drunk off endorphins. Best of all, the look of horror on his old man’s face was the cherry on top. Saito was able to experience true bliss in that moment, meanwhile, that bastard got to endure the death of yet another woman in his life.

However, the more Saito thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps the fault of his mother’s death wasn’t entirely misplaced. All this time, he considered Manaka to be his first kill, but in actuality, the first person he ever killed was his own mother. Of course, it wasn’t on purpose, but this sudden realization stunned him. Moreso, there was an unexpected pang of sadness that wriggled its way into his chest. Such a strange, foreign feeling that felt like no amount of killing would ever subdue. Was this, perhaps, what guilt felt like? 

With his elbows resting on his thighs, Saito slouched his body, hanging his head low. His fingers trembled nervously and his lids squeezed shut to hold the moisture that pricked his eyes at bay. Such a horrible feeling… His body tensed as his fists clenched together tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. A sharp inhale entered his lungs, a mixture of a greedy breath and a choked sob. His heart began to drown in remorse, and his mind was absorbed with the thought of a mother’s love that he would never be able to experience. Saito’s fingertips found their way woven into his hair, pulling the strands painfully. Anything to take away this  _ yearning _ . His heart pounded in his ears.

_ Stop it..! _

If she never died, perhaps Saito would have been a completely different person. Perhaps his father would not be so cold to him if she were still here. He would have been more open with his feelings, and they could have helped him be better. He could have gotten treatment for his condition. If his mother had lived, Manaka would never have gotten involved with his father. He never would have killed her… 

_...even if she was still alive… _

How would she view her son? Would she be a kind and caring mother? Or maybe she would be cold and distant, similar to what his father had shown him for all his years. Would she be strict and controlling, or would she spoil him and encourage him? How warm would her hugs be? How intimidating would her frustration be? How soothing would her voice sound when she spoke to ease his worries? Would she be proud of him? Would she love him?

_ … _

_...she would never love you. _

It didn’t matter. None of it would  _ ever _ matter. The things Saito had done… no mother would  _ ever _ love their son if they had committed such terrible acts. Deep down, he knew everything he did was wrong. He knew he could seek help一therapy, medicine, or  _ both _ 一but, simply put, Saito was a horrific man who loved to kill. He never dreamed of trading out the thrill of murder with artificial happiness. Killing made him feel  _ alive _ . 

Saito felt his thoughts coming to a halt, his body finally letting go of the tension in his muscles. His hands fell into his lap, fingers curling in a calming gesture. A shaking breath passed through his lungs as he sat straight up. Any feelings of remorse he felt for his mother’s  _ murder _ were quickly dashed away. It was for her own good, he felt. This way, she would never have to know what kind of man her son grew up to be. 

And then, a faint buzzing noise caught Saito’s attention. With a spin of his wrist, he dove a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a cell phone. He couldn’t stop the deranged grin that spread across his face as he unlocked the phone to view the message. It could have only been from one person: Rohan Kumakura. The screen lit up, and there were no words, only a photograph: a sneakily taken picture of a woman with short, dark hair. His heart began to race.

Oh, even the thought of this stranger dying at his hands sent chills of excitement up his spine. How would he do it this time? Perhaps he would strangle her to death, relish in her gasps for air and admire the pretty hue as her lips turned blue. Or maybe, he would put a bullet into her brain? Quick and efficient, with the added bonus of her splattering blood painting an abstract work of art. The loud  _ pop _ of the gun and the smell of gunpowder reminded him of beautiful fireworks. He simply couldn’t  _ wait _ to hear her beg for her life, like she was singing a song just for him.

Eagerly, Saito rose to his feet, stretching his tall body and rolling his neck around to loosen it. He began to make his way to the exit, but froze just as he passed the offering box. He wasn’t sure why, but something compelled him to take a second look at the shrine, fixing his gaze on the rope that hung from the bell. Hesitant, he nervously reached out to the rope, grasping it firmly and swinging it to either side. The ringing of the bell echoed in his ears as he slowly pressed his hands together, palm to palm. Saito wasn’t sure if he believed in God一and if He  _ was _ real, would He heed this unforgivable man’s words? Nevertheless, Saito closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts.

_ Dear God,  _ he prayed,  _ don’t let my mother know that her baby is bad... _

Saito let his arms fall to his sides as a breath he didn’t realize he was holding passed sharply through his lips. His fingers began to twitch anxiously,  _ craving _ to kill. His eyes opened, and his head craned upwards to the dark sky above. If God had any mercy, then perhaps He would give Saito that peace. With that, he spun around and exited the shrine, heading for the Kumakura Office. 


End file.
